To End A Grudge
by Caledor54
Summary: When an elven caravan is attcked near the World's Edge Mountains, the honour of one dwarf will change the world as he does something that no-one thought possible. The two ancient races, locked in bitter dispute and mistrust for four thousand years, may be thrown together by the cries of a child. this is the tale of Imladrik, the child to end the grudge...


**Prologue**

**A/N:**** Ok, so this is a new story for me. Something to make me feel better about not being able to update my other stories due to getting a new laptop and not having transferred my files over yet. So this story is, as the summary suggests, a story about the elves and dwarves of the warhammer world. This first chapter is just the prologue, I'll try and post the 'real' first chapter as soon as I've written it. Right then, here we go!**

**DISCLAIMER! I don't own the warhammer races or anything to do with them.**

The Elven caravan made good time through the woods of the Empire. The Imperial road network connecting the realm's greatest cities had been an unusually clever idea for the humans, but the elves were not complaining. The hurried through Ostermark, making for the city of Talabheim. When they reached the city, they would turn south and head for Altdorf, and then to Marienberg to board the ships for home.

They carried a very precious cargo, a heavily pregnant elven woman, the wife of an important prince. Her husband was staying as a guest in the Imperial Palace of Karl Franz. She had been visiting her sister-in-law, who had been staying in the city of Erengrad. They were now deep in Ostermark, close to the World's Edge Mountains. As the small company hurried on, many were muttering about the proximity to the dwarven realm. They were a small company. Twenty Sea Guard, a few scouts and an escort of Reaver knights, along with the three wagons laden with silk, gold, spices and wine. In the centre wagon, the woman resided.

She was beautiful, even for the fabled looks of the elves. Her elegant and ample frame was clothed in a flowing gown of silk, from which her distended belly protruded. Her hair was long and thin, the colour of flames. Her face was welcoming, yet she had a steely look in her eyes that spoke of unyielding defiance and determination. He looked ready to take on the world.

The deep blue sky began to darken as night came upon the world. The scouts became ever more nervous, as did the horses, which nickered quietly. The caravan drives heightened the pace slightly and the elves broke into a light trot, flowing forward in a river of colour against the black of the trees. The forests of men were not like the woods of Ulthuan. They were full of darkness, evil and Chaos. One never knew what was watching you from the shadows. Therefore, the elves were unsurprised when howls and other, more sinister noises began to permeate the air.

Military training kicking in, the elves closed ranks around the caravan, eyes darting to the woods, looking for the first signs of an attack. They marched thus for another hour, the mountains looming to the east, seemingly frowning on the elves. The scouts came back saying that it was unlikely they would reach a human settlement before dawn. Grimly, the elves held a small council and decided, against their better judgement, (and pride) to seek cover in the mountains. They turned and headed towards the nearest spur of the imposing behemoths.

Three hours later, the elves were close enough to the mountains to see individual trees on their slopes and, to their relief a dwarven watchtower. Lighting torches so the dwarves could see their small procession, the elves hurried forward, trying to reach the safety of the stone walls before the beasts of the forest could assemble in force to investigate the lights in their woods. The torches were a double edged sword, allowing all to see them in the dark of the night. The elves just hoped the dwarves would find them first...

The dwarf on watch in the tower was one, Thorin Blackmane, son of Thrain, son of Thran the Black Lion. He too sported the family trait of a great mane of black hair which made wearing a helmet rather difficult. He was a middle-aged dwarf; his beard was long and full. His eyes twinkled with humour and intelligence. A pipe was clamped firmly between his lips and a tankard of Bugman's was in his hand. His hobnailed boots clinked against the stone beneath his feet as he looked out across the forest. "_All quiet,"_ he thought as he saw nothing unusual in the woods. No, wait, there was something. A group of torches had just sprung up on the road heading to the gates of the hold. Startled, Thorin stared for a few minutes at the pin pricks of light without understanding, then scrambled for the watch horn and brought it to his lips.

A long, winding note filled the surrounding woods. Dwarves looked up and began to collect in the courtyard as Thorin came clambering down from the tower. His Thane, and life-long friend, Dain Ironfist was there to greet him.

"What news, Thorin?" asked the long beard.

"Torches, in the woods, my Thane." Said Thorin, slamming his fist over his heart and bowing slightly.

Dain stoked his beard for a long minute, looking into the sky. Then he turned back to his trusted right hand. "Take a scouting party out into the woods and find out who comes. I want to know who, or what, comes to my door before they arrive. Don't be seen, don't be heard and I want you back here before those torches are within range of my crossbow."

Thorin bowed his head and turned to his kinband. They grinned at him and hoisted various weapons over their shoulders. Axes, hammers, crossbows and shields were strapped onto backs, arms or holstered in belts. Thorin grinned back and hefted his own axe. Exiting through the postern gate, the 6 dwarves crept quietly down into the woods and out into the night.

The elven caravan was less than half an hour's march from the gates of Dain Ironfist when their luck ran out. Howls and grunts permeated the air and the scouts came running back, grim-faced to tell them that the beastmen had found them.

"Reavers, defend the Lady. Get her to safety. We shall provide a rear guard. Let us hope the dwarves have seen out torches and are sending an army to investigate." Said Sea Master Hurin. The old elf was a veteran of many battles and knew that here was where many of the elves would meet with death. It would be worth it if the Lady escaped, he thought. Stepping into the circle of Sea Guard, Hurin lifted his voice to carry into the surrounding woods.

"Elves of Ulthuan, sell your lives dearly! Give them no mercy, for you shall receive none. This is our last stand, my friends. For the Phoenix King, and our Lady, CHARGE!"

The elves echoed his cry as the Chaos fiends emerged from the woods, wielding a motley collection of weapons. They howled praises to their Dark Gods and charged at the elves. Hurin hefted his spear and prepared for battle.

The dwarves heard the battle before they saw it. Beastmen howled and grunted as they fought and died. Amidst the noises of the abominations, other cries could be heard. Higher pitched, more noble, raised in ordered commands or in groans of pain. The dwarves readied their arms and moved closer to the sounds of conflict. Pushing through a narrow line, they came upon a brutal battlefield. Beastmen lay slaughtered upon the ground all around them, yet more stood in front of them. Around twenty of the abominations were surrounding a wagon, howling for blood. Against the tide, stood three noble beings. Silver armour glinted, cloaks snapped and leaf-bladed swords and spears flashed in destructive arcs. Elves. More of their kin lay broken on the ground, their frail bodies surrounded by the beastmen dead.

Dwarves weren't exactly fond of elves, but beastmen were worse. Howling battle-cries, the rangers hurled themselves into the foe, cutting down nearly half of them before they could even realise they were under attack. The elves rallied and fought all the harder to defend the wagon. Still, two more of the twilight race fell before the last of the beasts was butchered. Hefting his axe once more, Thorin turned to face the last elf.

Hurin had never been more pleased to see a dwarf. Stumbling forward, he went to greet them. His sword clattered to the ground as his right hand sought the wound on his side. He smiled wryly at the smaller beings as his knees buckled. One of the dwarves rushed forward and caught him.

"My thanks," he croaked hoarsely, "please, noble dwarves. My Lady, she is in labour. You must help her! Please, help her!" his voice became a whisper as darkness tugged at him mind and pulled him into it cold embrace.

The dwarves looked at each other, then at Thorin. His brow furrowed in thought, then a cry of pain split the night, emanating from the wagon in front of them. Thorin nodded to himself, then turned to his rangers.

"Kili, Fili, run for the hold. Get an army out here, even if they are in their breaches and tunics. Go!" the two young dwarves turned and ran back the way they had come, vanishing up the road. "Ori, look after the elfling, save him if you can." The black-bearded dwarf knelt over Hurin and began to inspect his wound. "Balin, Dwalin, with me. Lets deliver a baby." And with that, the last three dwarves clambered into the wagon.

Balin and Dwalin stood guard, pulling their crossbows from over their shoulders. Thorin approached the elf-woman, who was grunting and screaming in pain. Thorin knew at a glance that she would not live out the night, there was too much blood for her to be saved. For the sake of the dead, all Thorin could do now was make sure the babe arrived alive. Kneeling at her side, Thorin looked into her face. She stared back at him, her cheeks streaked with tears but her bright blue eyes were steeled with determination.

"It's ok lass, I'm here to help. Take my hand, and push when I tell you." Said Thorin in a calm, even voice. The elf nodded and took a deep breath. Her small, pale hand latched onto his own with surprising strength. her hair was spread out behind her, making it appear like a river of fire flowed from her scalp. Thorin waited a few second then said, "Now, push!"

The elf screamed yet again. Thorin winced. They repeated the process three more times, by which time Thorin's hand was definitely numb. Grunting with pain as the elf's nails dug into his skin, Thorin checked on the babe's progress. He was pleased to see it that one more push should do the trick. He turned back to the elf-woman.

"One more push, lass. Give it all you got! Now, PUSH!" he urged. The elf screamed again, louder than before, and a second voice joined her. Balin handed Thorin a knife that had been washed in flame and he cut the cord connecting the babe to his mother near his stomach, tying the loose end in a small knot. He then cleaned up the child as best he could, and gave him to his mother. She sighed as she settled her son against her chest and gave him her breast. The sounds of an army of dwarves could be heard on the road. Thorin looked into her eyes and she nodded her head in understanding.

"Come close, dwarf." She whispered. Thorin obeyed. "He shall be called Imladrik, as his ancestor was. Care for him, keep him safe. Do this for me, dwarf. It is my last wish." She whispered urgently.

Thorin was shocked. How was he supposed to respond? His people's greatest rival was now asking him to take her babe into his home? Could he do such a thing? He looked her in the eyes, then down at the babe at her breast. He looked over his shoulder, out at the dead. He made his decision.

Clasping her hand properly, Thorin drew himself up and placed his free hand over his heart. "On my honour, the honour of my clan, and my beard, I, Thorin Blackmane, swear to uphold your wishes, even if it leads to my death." He said gruffly.

The elf smiled. "Then may the gods bless you, Thorin. I, Princess Enyana of aagh!" she cut off as pain lanced up her body. She was nearing the end, Thorin could see. She panted and recovered herself. "I...ahh... name you... elf-friend. Live well and long, raise him strong and to the best he can be... tell him... he has my love..." and with that, Princess Enyana past from the world.

When the army arrived, Dain at the front, they found Ori and Balin supporting Hurin, who was still unconscious. Dwalin was putting the lamed horses out of their misery and killing any wounded beastmen. Thorin stood next to a wagon, a bundle of silk and wool in his arms. Dain stepped forward.

"What happened, Thorin?" asked the long-beard

"The elves, they were making for the hold. The beastmen caught them. They fought bravely, but only that one survives, and this babe. I helped bring him into the world. I won't have him abandoned, Dain, I swore an oath to keep him safe." Thorin said fiercely. Dain looked his friend in the eye and sighed. He turned and shook his head.

"We will take the babe to the Everpeak. Thorgrim will decide the boy's fate. As for now, gather the bodies and bring them up, burn the beasts and get those wagons up to the hold. The elf will be my guest." Dain said as he turned to walk away. The dwarves split into groups and began gathering the elvish corpses, piling their weapons into the wagons and lugging beastmen into a pile for burning. The rangers crowded around Thorin as he started to trudge up to the hold, the young elf asleep in his arms. A small wisp of red hair clung to his scalp and his face was elegant for a newborn.

"What happens now?" asked Kili.

"We honour the oath," rumbled Balin, "We look after the babe."

"Imladrik." Corrected Thorin. "Imladrik, born to end the grudge."


End file.
